


A Talk Beside The Fire

by mydogwatson



Series: One Fixed Point: 2020 Advent Stories [4]
Category: Sherlock TV
Genre: M/M, Time Travel, Victorian, roast beef
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: Holmes and Watson move in the right direction, in a very Victorian way.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: One Fixed Point: 2020 Advent Stories [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035588
Comments: 28
Kudos: 104





	A Talk Beside The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone is coping well in this dangerous era. We have reached 4 December! I do hope that the slow dance between these characters—taking place in two different centuries—is not too frustrating. Hope you enjoy this entry in the Advent adventure.

Winter is a time for comfort and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.  
-Sitwell, E.

I was quite pleased that no client had appeared to send Holmes and I out into the fierce winter storm that had engulfed London since early morning. Instead, we had spent the day quietly within the walls of the sitting room, with a fire blazing away and a bustling landlady keeping us well supplied with hot tea and biscuits. Holmes was engaged upon an updating of his index, glueing down newspaper clippings and then adding his own handwritten comments where necessary. As for me, I was more slothful. After merely scribbling notes on our most recent case, the Affair of the Larcenous Librarian—whether it could be turned into an adventure for the Strand remained to be seen—I was settled comfortably in my chair, deep into the newest offering from Mr Wells.

The pop and snap of the fire and the swish of Holmes’ glue brush were the only sounds in the room for some time.

“Holmes,” I said at one point. “Where do you stand on the subject of travelling through time?”

The sole response for several moments was the soft snicking of scissors through newsprint and I thought that he would ignore the question. But finally he spoke. “I do not have sufficient facts on the subject with which to reach a conclusion, Watson.”

My mood was a bit odd, I suppose, so it seemed natural to step ever-so-gingerly into unexplored territory. I placed my well-worn silk bookmark [which had belonged to my mother and was the only thing I possessed of hers] into the book and closed it. “If such a thing as Wells writes of did exist, a machine that could take you into the past, is there a moment you would revisit?”

Now Holmes looked at me. “A moment in my own history?”

I nodded. When he did not speak again, I broke the silence. “For me, it is an easy choice. It would be the moment I walked away from you on the path to the Reichenbach Falls.” This was more blunt than we ever were regarding that event.

Holmes carefully folded the ravaged newspaper and set it aside for the rubbish. “You always see the world in such stark terms,” he said. “Black or white. Good or evil. On the other hand, I seem to find myself most often in the murky grey places.”

From somewhere we could hear the sound of church bells. Below, judging by the soft clatter of china and silverware, Mrs Hudson was preparing our dinner tray. Absurdly, while being in a moment so highly charged, I remembered that she had promised roast beef, with freshly-baked gingerbread for pudding. I was looking forward to it.

After a moment, Holmes rose from the floor and came to sit in his chair. “It would be so easy to say that I would revisit the moment I escaped the falls that claimed Moriarty. To say that I would greet you on your arrival and we might have left together.”

“But you would not do that?” I found myself wondering what I would have said and done had that happened. I think my choice would have been to follow him where he led.

He shook his head. “I could not. The danger was too great. And you had other claims on your life.”

“None that mattered as much,” I said roughly.

Holmes gave me a hardly visible smile. I was never sure how much of the truth about my marriage he knew. All of it, possibly. Probably.

My fingers rubbed at the cover of the book. “If not to the those falls, then where would you have the time machine take you?” I asked him.

“I think, possibly, to the day we met at Barts,” he replied after a moment’s thought.

The words pained me a bit. “So that you would not invite me to share rooms with you?”

Surprisingly, he gave a huff of laughter. “Of course not, Watson. That is the moment in my life I will never regret. But I do often feel that I should have been more honest about my own shortcomings. Perhaps you might have chosen differently.”

I was abruptly aware of how foolishly we had danced around one another for so long. It seemed absurd, especially since his return. I made my words blunt in response. “I would not have chosen differently,” I said. “No matter your shortcomings.”

Before he could respond, if indeed he intended to, we could hear the sound of Mrs Hudson’s footsteps coming up the stairs. She gave us the usual cheery smile and set the heavy tray down onto the table. There was a bit of idle chatter as I joined her to help serve the meal and then she was gone.

Holmes went to the cabinet and took out a bottle of red wine, then joined me at the table. “As the festive season has begun, perhaps we might indulge ourselves,” he said, pouring us each a glassful. “What shall we toast?”

I lifted my glass. “To Holmes and Watson,” I said. “And their future.”

He touched his glass to mine, without speaking, and we both drank.

The roast beef was perfectly cooked and nicely accented by the crispy potatoes and buttery asparagus. Even Holmes was clearly enjoying the meal. We chatted lightly about various subjects, including the approaching holidays, as we ate. I cut a bit of gristle from my last bite of the meat before saying what was hovering in my mind. “Of course, Holmes, a time travelling device could also carry us into that future I mentioned. What do you imagine we would see?” I finished the meat and pushed my plate away.

Holmes slowly ate the last potato. I did not rush him to speak. Instead, I poured our tea and lifted the cover from the tray. The gingerbread was still warm from the oven. I cut two slices and set one in front of Holmes. 

For a fleeting moment, Holmes seemed ready to speak. We looked at one another and smiled instead. He took a small bite of the gingerbread. “Mrs Hudson has outdone herself,” he said then. I knew he would respond in time and he did. “I have always rather fancied the idea of a cottage somewhere in the country.”

That surprised me. “I always thought you were not fond of the rural life.”

He gave a minute shrug. “I would like to raise bees.”

I cut myself another small slice of the gingerbread. “That sounds pleasant.” I did not want to ask what was foremost in my mind.

Holmes quirked a brow at me. “Well, I am glad you think so. It wouldn’t do to have you unhappy.”

There was nothing I could say to that. Nothing, at least, that wouldn’t have me sound like a blushing school girl.

The snow was still falling on London, but our fire crackled delightfully, the tea was hot and strong, and the warm gingerbread tasted of home.

The old year was drawing to a close, but I had a sense of quiet comfort that before the new year began Holmes and I would have come to a new understanding. Our time was near. One of us simply had to gain the courage to speak first.

I thought it might be me.

**


End file.
